


In Her Dreams

by PenguinofProse



Series: Smutty Saturdays [21]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst and Smut, Dream Smut, F/M, Mostly Smut, Smut, smutty dreams, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28791075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Clarke starts having some unusual dreams.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Smutty Saturdays [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930432
Comments: 18
Kudos: 140





	In Her Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a smutty Saturday! Huge thanks to Zou for this prompt - she intended it as smangst but mostly it's just smut. We're set in S6 but if Sanctum was a more welcoming place. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing this as always. Happy reading!

It feels real. Real, and so, so good.

Large, confident hands, everywhere, all at once. Lips on hers – demanding, but soft and gentle at the same time, somehow. A warm, strong body hovering over her. A long, firm cock easing inside of her.

It takes her too long to realise it's him. Too long to process that this is Bellamy. It's the beard, she thinks – she's still not used to the beard. But the smell of him is much the same as ever, and although time has passed them by his body still feels the same as she holds him tight. Sure, they never did _this_ before, but they hugged plenty and she could swear she'd recognised the planes of his shoulders beneath her palms _anywhere_.

She can't make sense of it. Bellamy still half-hates her, she's pretty sure. They've barely spoken since cryosleep. And she's sure as hell still angry that he gave Madi the flame – even if she's pleased he's still alive, too.

But she doesn't _want_ to make sense of it.

It feels so good to be touched so tenderly, after so long spent in loneliness. And if their hugs used to be her favourite way of setting aside their differences – well, then. This is reconciliation on a whole new level.

"Perfect." She hears him gasp above her. "You feel so perfect, Princess."

She moans, buries her face in his neck. The sound of that silly nostalgic nickname after all this time is doing dangerous things to her insides.

"So good, Bellamy."

He groans at that. She wonders what specifically he's groaning at – is it the praise, or is it the way she shapes his name even as the breath is trying to shudder clean out of her lungs?

She tries again.

"You make me feel so good."

A groan, but quieter. It's the name, then.

"Bellamy. Yes, Bellamy."

"I've got you, Princess." He murmurs against the crook of her neck. "You're OK. I've got you."

She relaxes further beneath his touch. _I've got you_. It's everything she's been wanting to hear, since Praimfaya. It's a reassurance that he's right here with her, by her side where he belongs. It's a vow to take care of her, too.

And most of all? Most of all it's half way to _I've got you for that_.

It feels even better, now she's totally relaxed. Skin against skin, Bellamy bucking his hips. Her world narrows to the feeling of his lips on her neck and his cock inside of her.

"Bellamy." It comes out as a plea, but she doesn't know what she's pleading for.

"I've got you." He promises, just one more time.

That does it. That has her tumbling over the edge, mangling the too-many syllables of his beautiful name in a long and breathy sigh. And she drags him down with her, feels him thrust against her one last time then fall, still and spent, onto her chest.

It isn't until she wakes up with the bright light of a Sanctum dawn slicing across her pillow that she realises it was all a dream.

…...

She can't look Bellamy in the eye the next day. Of course she can't. How could she? How do you meet the gaze of your estranged best friend when you literally had a burning hot _sex dream_ about him the previous night?

He doesn't even try to talk to her, at the negotiations with Russell. Of course he doesn't. Why would he? Why would he want to talk to the estranged best friend who left him to die?

At least he doesn't know she had a burning hot sex dream about him last night. At least there's that.

…...

The next time it happens, she knows she's dreaming. She knows the tender, caring kindness spilling from Bellamy's lips and burning in his touch is all a figment of her own imagination.

That ought to make this sad and really rather uncomfortable, she thinks. It ought to kill off any of the sexiness of this sex dream.

And yet somehow, it doesn't.

She's usually a sensible woman, she's pretty sure. She's usually mind-over-matter – or head-over-heart. But it seems that her stupidly sentimental subconscious just cannot help taking pleasure in this too-perfect moment.

"You with me, Princess?" Bellamy prompts.

Sorry – _dream_ Bellamy prompts. Even her own subconscious is reminding her to stay on task, here. It's really a rather odd conflict when she considers what she's dreaming about, in this moment.

"I'm with you." She says. She can taste the lie, and yet it feels right to say it.

"You're OK. Just relax and let me take care of you." He whispers. "Let me make it better."

He starts with his mouth, today. He scoots down the bed – are there _beds_ , in sex dreams? She doesn't think she's ever had a sex dream with realistic furniture before now. Anyway, he scoots down the bed and gets his mouth on her, gentle and tender and perfect and _good_.

It's everything she's been wanting from Bellamy since he landed on Earth – everything she has been wanting and hasn't got. It's not just that she's jealous he's attracted to Echo and not to her. She's been missing far more than that from him – care and concern and his old stubborn protectiveness.

And somehow that's what her imagination has conjured up, now, as he goes down on her in this dream.

It's a little overwhelming, really. The blend of sensation and emotion is all a bit too much for her, has her stunned as she sighs out his name and tangles her hand in his hair.

She's not surprised that she comes quickly. But he is, apparently, as he peeps up from between her legs to grin at her.

"That was fast."

"You were good." She says simply.

He laughs lightly. "I try."

"It was perfect. Not just what you were doing with your mouth but – but _everything_. I love it when you take care of me."

She expects him to smile at that, like a good dream lover. But he doesn't. Quite the opposite – his eyes are suddenly flooded with tears, a couple of them spilling over to run down his cheeks.

"Bellamy?"

He clears his throat. "I love taking care of you, too, Princess. I've missed it."

Typical. Just her luck. In her dreams Bellamy doesn't just sleep with her – he also _cares_ about her. In her dreams, he's sorry that things have gone so wrong between them. In her dreams, she suspects he loves her too.

Hah. In her dreams.

"Come here." She reaches for him, invites him back up the bed, then hugs him tight. Do sex dreams usually involve so much communication? She's not altogether sure.

They cuddle for a little while. It's lovely – _too_ lovely. It's warm and soft and tender and probably has no place in a sex dream whatsoever.

That's why Clarke kicks things up a gear once more. Dreaming of sex with her former best friend is one thing, but she thinks that dreaming of post-coital cuddles is probably a bridge too far. That's probably dangerous, she thinks – that stops being a sex dream and starts being a _relationship_ dream, if such a thing even exists.

So it is that she reaches down to toy with his half-hard cock.

"You telling me you're good for round two?" He asks brightly.

"Sure am."

He doesn't make her ask twice. Dream Bellamy is a very obedient lover. Also very considerate, and very attentive, and very generous, and very kind, and -

And he's the model of perfection, OK? He's so damn perfect it hurts.

It all feels so right, so natural as he gets himself positioned inside her. There's a bit of a stretch – but just the right amount. And then he's moving with that rhythm which already feels so familiar, although she's dreamed this but once before.

Damn, but her imagination is good.

For the first time in her life, she genuinely stops overthinking a sexual encounter and totally goes with the flow. Kissing, touching, feeling. Breathing. Gasping. Her whole world is Bellamy, the feel of his skin against hers, the sound of him murmuring reassurance in her ear.

"Bellamy -"

"I'm here, Princess. I'm right here."

It's quite the strangest orgasm of her life. There's none of the urgency she's used to, no sudden shock of release. Instead there's this gradual warm glow of pleasure, stronger and stronger, as she clenches around him, then fading away to leave her happy but utterly spent.

Huh. Maybe that's just what happens sometimes, when you're dreaming the sex rather than living it.

She doesn't have time to think about it much longer. She's distracted by Bellamy coming in turn, by the frankly obscene moaning noise he makes as he buries his face in her hair.

"I've got you." She murmurs to him, holding him tight. She figures she cannot be the only one who likes to feel cherished once in a while.

He sighs loudly, rearranges things so that he's lying curled at her side.

"Can we just stay here and cuddle till morning?" He asks, in a rather vulnerable sort of a voice.

"Sure we can. I'd like that."

She'd _love_ it, actually. But even though she knows she's really talking to herself and not to him, still she cannot bear to say it out loud.

…...

When it's happened three times, she decides to seek help. Three times is a pattern, she believes. Her rational side is kicking in and demanding that there must be some explanation for all this.

 _It_. _All this_.

She curses herself. She's Clarke Griffin, formerly Commander of Death. She should be brave enough to say it how it is – she's been having inappropriate dreams about her once-close friend. But she's incredibly uncomfortable about it, feels intrinsically creepy for thinking these things about Bellamy even subconsciously.

That's why she goes to the Sanctum doctor – Cillian, his name is – and asks him if there is anything about the air or plants or food in this place that might cause unusual dreams or heightened libido.

He looks at her more than a little oddly for that.

She's out of luck. He has no explanation. He has no help, no cure, nothing useful at all.

Some sick part of Clarke is glad of it. In a world where she can scarcely so much as _speak_ to Bellamy by day, it seems, she is all too relieved that she will be able to cling onto him in this sick, twisted way by night.

…...

It gets worse, not better, after that conversation with Cillian.

Well – it gets more _frequent_. That's worse, right? To often have sex dreams about a guy who can barely look at her?

But in all honesty, the sex gets better. It gets even slower and more tender, as Clarke and her too-perfect lover lie together for hours on end. _Imagined_ hours, that is. Time moves differently in dreams.

They talk more, too. Little questions about what each other like, affirmations that they're here to take care of one another. So when they start talking about what has gone so wrong in their daytime relationship, Clarke barely even registers the change of subject.

"I'm sorry, Princess. I'm so sorry I hurt you and Madi." Bellamy mutters tonight as he hugs her protectively from behind and presses kisses against her neck.

"It's OK. You're forgiven." She says, and it feels good to say it even though she knows she's not really saying it to him. She still feels better, now, for having got her forgiveness off her chest. "I'm sorry for leaving you, Bellamy. I promise I'll never make that mistake again. You're too important to me."

"I forgive you." He says in turn, pressing more kisses to the back of her neck.

She wriggles against him a little, feels him already half-hard against her. She reaches out to hold his hand and squeeze it tight while he keeps kissing her and occasionally rubbing a gentle thumb over one or other of her breasts.

"I just want to take care of you. That's what I thought I was doing, I swear it. I thought that was the only way to save you."

She sighs. She didn't come here to have an argument with her own imagination. She came here to _come_ , frankly – to come intensely and often.

"I know that, Bellamy. I get it now. It's OK. We're OK." They're not OK, of course – not for real. But right now she just wants to soothe the sadness she can hear in his voice.

She's too late. She hears him take a shaky breath, feels him shudder slightly with the effort of repressing tears. She rolls over to face him, presses delicate kisses to his cheeks and even his eyelids.

"We're OK." She whispers to him in between kisses. "I've got you, too, just as you're taking care of me. That's what we do for each other." She reminds him.

"That's what we do." He echoes, eyes still damp. But there are no new tears falling so she takes that as a win.

They are always gentle and tender together. It's something she didn't realise she needed, until her subconscious started showing her it, these last few days. But today they are more gentle than ever, as she keeps kissing his cheeks, moves slowly down to his lips, kisses him deep but unhurried.

Even when she moves things along, she keeps it soft and slow. She straddles him, arranges herself on his cock, but she doesn't sit up and ride him in a rush. Rather she leans right forward into his chest, keeps kissing him gently, and eases up and down the length of his cock in long, languid strokes.

"Hold me." She hears him beg in a rather broken voice.

She does as he asks, as best she can. She eases an arm under his shoulders, hugs as much of him as she can reach.

"Tighter." He asks, wrapping his arms more firmly around her in turn.

She does her best. She squeezes her arm about him, uses the other to support herself and keep some kind of rhythm going. She's not taking them anywhere quickly, here, but judging by the totally _wrecked_ noises Bellamy is making, he's not about to complain.

Of course he's not going to complain, she chastises herself sharply. He's a figment of her imagination. Obviously she's conjured up the perfect partner for herself – one who needs her even more than she wants him, it seems. One who would beg her to stay with him and hold him tight.

Maybe there's no harm in playing along with that a little more, she figures – this is all inside her own head, after all.

"I'm right here. I've got you." She promises. "Love how you hold me tight, Bellamy. I feel so safe here with you."

"Love it when you hold me, too." He murmurs. "I've missed you. Missed hugging you."

"This is better." She protests at once.

He laughs a little. "Yeah. Feels so good when you hold me close, Princess."

She squeezes him tighter, pulls away from the kiss to press her face into his neck, just for a moment. God, he smells good. Her imagination is rather too skilled, she decides. It's incredible that she remembers all these details about him so well.

She can move a little faster, now she's not concentrating on kissing him steadily at the same time. She keeps it more _tender_ than anything, but there's a new urgency now, too. And she can feel the pleasure starting to blossom low in her core. She's in for another one of those big, warm orgasms, she realises. It's creeping up on her steadily.

"You're gonna make me come like this, Princess. Is that OK? That what you want?"

"Mhmm." She hums in agreement against his neck.

She doesn't want to come quite exactly like _this_ , though. She wants to be kissing him. She shifts a little, gets her lips slanted over his once more. And he sits up slightly into the kiss, his stomach muscles straining beneath her, and suddenly she can wrap her arms right around his shoulders and upper back.

That's how she comes – right in his lap, arms tight around him, sighing into his open mouth as her lips still for several long seconds. It's the most blissful thing she's ever felt, she thinks – not just a sense of coming because she's finished chasing release, but a genuine flood of warmth and pleasure and downright _joy_.

Bellamy's not far behind her, bucking up into her just a handful more times. And then he's falling back onto the pillows, taking her with him as he goes. Her arms have ended up sandwiched beneath him, now, but really she's too damn happy to care.

"That was incredible." She tells him, honest and a little breathless.

"I always knew we could be." He says, and she thinks he sounds strangely sad about it.

She doesn't ask him. She just kisses him a few minutes more, then rolls half-off his chest so she can go to sleep curled into his side.

…...

Clarke has no great hopes when she arrives at the peace negotiations the next morning. Russell will be ostensibly friendly but deeply stubborn, she expects. Kane will look pale, her mother will look worried. And Bellamy will be incredibly cold.

Honestly, she's keen to just get through this day and go back to bed. Her nightly sex dreams are fast becoming the highlight of her pitiful existence.

She's right on every count except one. As she sits across the table from him, Bellamy actually meets her eyes and tries for a smile. It looks like a sad smile, she thinks, but it's a smile nonetheless.

"Morning." She says to him in turn, trying for a smile of her own.

"Hey. How are you?"

"Fine." She says shortly. It's mostly a lie, but at least it's a polite one. "You?"

"Yeah, fine. Thanks."

That conversation – does an exchange that short even count as a conversation? - sets the tone for the rest of the morning's meeting. It's an interesting one, Clarke thinks. Bellamy isn't being _warm_ to her, as such. And he still looks really rather melancholy. But he does at least seem to be speaking to her, and she is only too willing to try to return his civility in kind.

At this rate, she thinks, they might be able to hug before the decade is out.

When the meeting is over, everyone stands and leaves the room. That's how a meeting works, right? At its conclusion people disperse.

That's why Clarke is more than a little surprised when she hears Bellamy calling out to her.

"Wait up, Princess!"

She gasps. OK – she's not _just_ surprised by him calling out to her. She's more surprised by what he said. She's not heard him call her that in years.

Well – except in her dreams.

"What did you just call me?" She asks, spinning round to face him.

She can see the exact moment he realises what he's done. The specific heartbeat where his cheeks flush and his eyes go wide and -

Oh god. That's not just a normal reaction to calling her something silly, is it? That's – that's a _mortified_ reaction. A reaction that suggests he's got caught doing something thoroughly improper.

"Bellamy – _what_ did you just call me?" She presses.

He gulps loudly. "Silly of me. Force of habit, I guess."

"Force of habit? When you've not called me that in _years_?" She points out. She steps a little closer, looks up into his nervous eyes. The rest of the meeting delegates seem to have dispersed, now, and she's glad of that.

She's beginning to suspect – or at least _hope_ – that she knows where this is going.

"I guess I've just kept calling you that in my head." He says, hoarse. Calling her that in his _heart_ , more like, she thinks.

This is not the moment for correcting him, though. This is the moment for stepping even closer, for reaching a hand up to cup his cheek.

"I just have one question." She murmurs to him, soft as silk. "Have you been having any weird dreams recently?"

He nods. Just the tiniest movement of his head, as his eyes flicker down to her lips. Well, then. That's that one answered.

She reaches up on tiptoes, presses her lips to his. And if there was any doubt left in her mind, it would flee at the contact. Those dreams were definitely thoroughly real, however it's happened. The way he kisses is far too familiar to be coincidence. She doesn't have a clue what's been going on, here, but for the first time in her life she doesn't much mind dwelling in ignorance. It's worth it, for the sake of repairing her relationship with Bellamy.

They kiss for a long time, standing there in an empty meeting room. And they kiss as they kiss best – slow and tender, with gentle hands joining the party, too.

It's Clarke who pulls away first. Of course it is – she may love kissing Bellamy, but she also loves to solve problems, and this is a most intriguing puzzle.

"What the hell is going on?" She asks. The words are brusque, but she keeps her tone tender and rests her head against Bellamy's chest while she waits for his response.

"No idea." He laughs a little. "But I'm not complaining. I don't want to question it. We've seen our fair share of crazy, and for once it's crazy in a _good_ way. How about we just head home and try making love wide awake for a change?"

"I'd like that. But – you're not – Echo?"

Bellamy frowns. "We broke up a while ago. Which you'd know if we'd been managing to talk to each other in daylight at all recently."

"I'm sorry." She says, as much about the talking as the breakup. "We'll do better, right? We'll forgive each other. This isn't just about sex for me."

"Me neither." He says, kissing her on the forehead as if to punctuate the point. "But we don't need to forgive each other, Princess. We've already done it. Wasn't that what was going on with all that pillow talk we've already shared?"

She nods. She can see that. Just because she thought at the time she was apologising to her own guilty conscience, doesn't change the fact that the reconciliation she's shared with Bellamy by night these last couple of weeks came from the bottom of her heart.

"Come on, then. Come home with me. Let me show you how special you are to me." He suggests.

She smiles slightly to herself. _Come home_. That sounds like an idea she can get behind, really. Something about Bellamy's arms has always felt like home to her.

They hold hands as they walk through the village. Honestly, it's a little strange. Clarke has got to know Bellamy's hands very well of late, thinks she could probably draw every vein and map every freckle. But it's unfamiliar to be wandering around in public with their fingers tangled together.

"I meant it." She says softly as they walk. "Every word about how much I care about you and how sorry I am and how I missed you. You know it has to be the honest truth – I thought I was only talking to myself so I was hardly going to lie." She laughs at herself slightly.

"Me too. You think we'll be the same in bed or will it be different now we know it's real?" He asks thoughtfully.

"I hope it'll be the same." She says at once.

"Yeah?" He turns to her, brows raised.

"Yeah. It was so... caring. I loved that. But I guess maybe it'll be even better now we have the confidence that we're not alone."

"You're never going to be alone again if I get my way." Bellamy says at once, firm.

She smiles up at him. "That doesn't sound very practical, Bellamy. I still have to pick Madi up from school apart from anything else."

He nods, biting his lip. She wonders if that was the wrong thing to say.

"I mean – we're doing this, right?" She checks. She figures that's not her most coherent question of all time and tries again. "What I'm saying is – we've already figured out we care about each other and miss each other and we're good in bed together. And we've known we make a good team for _years_. So – so am I totally crazy or have I read this wrong or – or are we getting together for real, now?"

"I sure hope so." Bellamy says, squeezing her hand hard. "I don't know if you figured this out all the times I saved your life or laughed at your terrible jokes or told you how good it feels to make love with you, but I'm kind of crazy about you, Princess."

She smiles softly. She knows him pretty damn well after all these years. And she knows that this is really quite important to him – she can tell from the way he phrased it as a half-joke, there.

"I feel the same way." She assures him at once. "And you'd better stop calling me _Princess_ until we get back to your place otherwise I'm going to make a scene right here in the street."

"Clarke Griffin, making a scene? Now that I'd like to see." He teases. "I swear back at the dropship I used to want to get you flustered more than anything."

"Should have just kissed me." She says lightly. "That would have worked."

"And then just think how many more years we could have had together." He muses sadly.

She leans into his arm. "Hey. None of that. We've got _now_ , and that's what counts."

"Yeah."

"Anyway, I think it's almost better like this. I don't think we'd be so... kind with each other if we'd always been together. I think the way we really treasure each other and take care is really special. I wouldn't want us to take each other for granted. I think – sometimes I did take you for granted, back on Earth."

"No. You're not allowed to beat yourself up – not today." He says, arriving at his own front door at last. "Here. Come on in and take your clothes off and be _happy_."

She doesn't take orders from Bellamy, of course. But that's an instruction she's only too happy to follow. She walks into his small apartment, turns to throw him what she hopes is an inviting glance over her shoulder. And then he's right there, too, his hand on the small of her back as the door closes smoothly behind them.

"Did you mean it about clothes? Or do you want to – maybe undress each other?" She suggests.

"You want that?"

"Yeah. I thought it might be good to mark the change. I think it would help me feel confident that this is real and not – not all a dream." She explains haltingly.

"That's good. We can do that." He rushes to assure her.

There's a moment's pause. She looks up at him, smiling softly. He looks down at her – or perhaps stares at her lips, more accurately. She giggles. She simply cannot help it. They've known each other for years, survived more challenges to their relationship than any other prospective couple she knows, and yet still they are standing here staring at each other like a pair of green teenagers.

"I'll go first." She announces, tugging his T shirt up over his head. She follows the path of her hands with a flurry of kisses, makes an absolute fuss of him as she undresses him. That's a deliberate and calculated move on her part – she figures a lot of enthusiastic kissing is a good way of reminding him how excited she is about this and how much she cares about him.

He matches her. Her shirt comes off, and Bellamy's mouth makes a fuss of her breasts and cleavage for a while. He's been bolder than this in bed with her before now, of course, but in this moment it feels good to have him exploring as much as he can with her bra still in place. She finds it _grounding_ , somehow, and it really emphasises to her the reality of this moment.

They ditch the rest of their clothes in much the same way, stripping each other tenderly, one piece at a time until it's down to bare skin for each of them.

It's a little odd, stepping forward to wrap Bellamy in her arms. It's at once shockingly new, and yet reassuringly familiar. Her body knows what it's doing, here, because they've touched a lot in recent weeks. And yet her head is trying so hard to overthink things, pointing out that they have never done this in broad daylight before.

"Relax." Bellamy murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I've got you, remember? Just like always."

That's what she needed. She raises her face to meet him in a kiss, lets her lips find that familiar rhythm. Lets her hands find his waist, too, and then his shoulders and his butt until she's really just roaming her fingers over ever inch of him that she can reach. But she's not doing it frantically, or hurriedly. Instead she's taking her time exploring his body and stroking him softly.

When Bellamy sits himself down on the edge of the bed, she goes with him. She's got rather good at reading him and moving together with him, since those odd dreams started. So she sits herself on his lap easily enough, almost without breaking the kiss, still totally focused on making him feel good and feeling good herself in turn.

When he starts fidgeting his hips beneath her, she knows what he's asking.

"Hang on. You might have to help." She mutters, apologetic. She's fit and strong – in more ways than one – but she thinks she might need a bit of a hand arranging herself on his cock while her legs are scrunched up underneath her like this.

He doesn't make her ask twice. His idea of _helping_ , it turns out, is to simply lift her off his lap and into a better position, his arms flexing smoothly as if she weighs nothing.

She doesn't actually allow herself to swoon on the spot. She's found Bellamy hot for _years_. There's really nothing new here.

But she does sink into his arms just a little further. Just, perhaps, the merest _hint_ of a swoon.

He takes a similar approach to helping her build up a rhythm, too. She's arranged a little better now and can rock up and down somewhat, working the length of him as best she can. But he helps her out, too, half-lifting her and urging her on with firm hands clasped around her butt and lower back.

"This OK?" He murmurs against her ear.

"Perfect." She assures him right away. He never really asked questions like that when they both thought they were dreaming, she observes. But then again, perhaps it's no surprise that he's feeling insecure now. She knows she for one is certainly a little nervous as she teeters on the precipice of the relationship she has wanted for _decades_.

She's in for another strong orgasm today. She can feel it building, already. This may not be the fastest rhythm in the world, and the position may not allow for much power behind her hips. But she's come to an interesting conclusion over the last couple of weeks. That what makes pleasure, for her at least, is not all about friction and speed. That it's more to do with the atmosphere, the tender way Bellamy touches her, the blissful noises he makes when she touches him. That getting the mood so perfectly right between them matters to her far more than what he's actually doing with his cock.

That's why she makes sure to speak to him a little along the way.

"This is incredible." She pants against his neck. "I always dreamed of being able to hold you and make love with you like this."

He chuckles breathlessly. "Yeah. I know. I've seen a few of your dreams recently."

She giggles in turn. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah. Me too." A moment's pause. "Only reality is even better than what I imagined."

She holds him tighter for that, because she knows that's what he needs. She wraps her arms right around his back, presses her forehead into his neck. She can feel him scattering urgent kisses onto her hair, his breathless gasps tickling her scalp.

"I love you." He tells her, sudden and shuddering as he pants for air.

Another moment where she would swoon, if she were the swooning type. And it's just so thoroughly _Bellamy_ , she thinks, through the heat-hazed chaos of pleasure. Of course he's that guy who would blurt out a love confession in this moment.

Just for today, she wants to be that girl. She wants to let go, just for a moment, of the Commander of Death and the weight of the human race on her shoulders. She wants to hold Bellamy tight and blurt out a love confession of her own, in turn.

So that's what she does.

"Love you too. I love you. I love yo-"

She never gets to finish that one. She's too busy seeing stars, coming hard as she writhes in his lap and chases the last scraps of pleasure. He's mere seconds behind her, barking out her name in a frankly _obscene_ tone. They've got pretty good at timing, since they started sleeping together, no matter what bizarre phenomenon might be to blame for it.

Silence falls, more or less. There is only breathing and hugging and a few lazy kisses.

"I love you." She repeats, at length.

Bellamy sighs, shoulders relaxing even further as his head sinks down to rest on hers. "I love you, too." He chuckles slightly. "Do I need to apologise for telling you at that exact moment or...?"

She laughs lightly. "No. We're good. It really helped, actually. I'm enjoying sex with you more than I ever have before and I think it's because we're so good at setting the mood."

"Right. Even more love confessions in future. Message received." He teases softly.

She hums a little, rubs a hand over his bare back. She'd gladly sit here all day, but she knows that's not actually an option.

"I'm really sorry. We can't sit here much longer. I have to go check in with Raven and then pick up Madi." She says, regretful. She loves her daughter, of course, and she's glad to be slowly patching things up with Raven. But this afternoon detour with Bellamy has been a welcome break from reality.

Much like those beautiful dreams they shared, she thinks.

Perhaps they can keep doing this. Perhaps they can keep capturing peaceful moments together, waking or sleeping. Perhaps they _should_ do that, to take care of each other and themselves after everything they have been through together.

Bellamy is thinking along similar lines, it turns out.

"Can I come with you?" He asks.

"I guess. You want to?"

"Yeah. I don't really like the sound of you leaving without me." He says. It is plainly supposed to be a joke, but it seems that he is struggling to laugh. "And I wouldn't say no to seeing Raven or getting to know Madi better. If – if we're serious about this, I hope I'll be spending more time with her too."

"I've always been serious about loving you." Clarke says easily. "But you're right. I'm serious about making this work, too. About putting our relationship first rather than spending all our energy on solving other people's problems."

"That sounds perfect." Bellamy says.

It does sound perfect, Clarke thinks. It sounds like a dream come true.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
